


The Fell Prince

by SykehaoL



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SykehaoL/pseuds/SykehaoL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the final battle, Chrom strikes the final blow to make Grima fall into a deep slumber. One that should've lasted thousands of years.</p><p>However, Grima was a lot more crafty. With the last of his strength, he entered Robin's being and waited. Years later, a Prince was brought into the world. A kind boy who would make the greatest brother to Yllise's Princess, who would make a loving son to the Exalt and His Wife, who would wish to follow in his mother's footsteps.</p><p>The boy with the conflicting marks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Morgan turns six when the mark finally appears.

He had been out in the garden playing with Lucina and their cousin Owain when it happens. The grip on his toy sword slackens and slips from his hand. He catches a glimpse of Lucina’s and Owain’s surprised looks, and then, the ground comes rushing toward him.

Pain clouds Morgan’s senses. His head pounds viciously, each pulse sending fresh ripples of agony throughout his body. His left arm seizes up, and he screams.

 

 

_You’re furious. How could they do this to you? You were supposed to rule them all! And then, that damn girl had to go back--_

 

 

Morgan takes sharp breaths in between his wails, trying to get the needed oxygen into his lungs. Tears stream down his cheeks, and he wants it to stop. He wants it all to stop.

Somewhere far away, he hears Owain calling his name; Lucina cries for somebody--anybody--to help. Morgan is quickly lifted up and carried in a familiar set of arms, pressed uncomfortably against cold armor. A part of Morgan is relieved because, of course, Frederick could help him. Frederick can fix anything. And--

 

_You follow her.That was your mistake. Once you had passed through time, you knew you would meet your end. You hadn’t wanted to believe it, yet that niggling feeling in the back of your mind wouldn’t go away..._

 

Morgan is dimly aware of being placed on a bed. Owain and Lucina hover at the edge of his peripheral vision, and Frederick barks an order for them to inform his parents. The two jolt out of their stupor and scramble out of the room.

Healers scurry about him, reciting spell after spell to lessen his torment. They poke and prod at him, trying to find the cause of his hurt. Morgan thrashes about, his sobs only increasing in volume.

 

 

_You took precautions. If worst came to worst, you’d be ready to escape your vessel. Even if that meant the vessel’s unfortunate death._

_You stare down into a pool of water to gaze at your reflection. A part of you feels a twinge of pity that you may have to part with this visage. You were just getting accustomed to the face too._

 

“M-Mommy,” Morgan gasps out. He repeats it over and over and over. His mother: where is she? Frederick shushes him in an attempt at comfort. Your mother is on her way, he says.

 

_No matter. You would find her counterpart in this timeline._

_However, she didn’t succcumb to him.The Robin of this time had adamantly resisted. The fact she could have finish you indefinitely posed a problem. Yet she didn’t take the chance to strike the final blow._

 

“Mommy!” Morgan tosses and turns. His mother enters his line of vision, and oh! She looks so terrified. But his mother wasn’t supposed to be afraid of anything.

Morgan, sweetie! Mommy’s here, Robin tries to soothe him. She tries to keep her tone sedate, but fails miserably due to the panic in her voice. Please, tell Mommy what’s wrong. It’s going to be okay. Mommy’s here.

Robin cradles him and he fists his hands on the front of her cloak. She would make the pain go away. She’s his mother. There’s more commotion and Morgan sees his Aunt Lissa and Uncle Lon’qu, Lucina and Owain, and his father--

 

 

_Just when you thought it was over, the Son of Naga appeared from behind her. Wielding that accursed sword, he made to finish you. It was then you saw your chance._

 

His hand is bleeding! Owain yells loudly. Morgan gasps then. His mind goes blank, and he just. Stops.

His cries die in his tortured throat; his eyes slip closed, and he slumps backward, hands dropping like dead weights at his sides.

 

Silence.

 

_They didn’t kill you. And that was their mistake._

 

\------------------

 

“M-Morgan,” Robin shakes him lightly. “Morgan, honey.” She calls again, her voice tinged with hysteria. Before she could call again, she feels a hand tentatively rest on her shoulder.

“He’s passed out. Probably from exhaustion,” Lissa says as calmly as she can. “May I take a look at him?”

At first, Robin wants to refuse. A strong need to protect her son washes over her. She doesn’t want to let anyone touch him. And yet, she knows that would not be a sensible decision. Robin manages to jerk her head into a nod, gently placing Morgan back on the bed.

When she steps back, her mind blanks at the stains of red on the sheets, on her robes. Too much blood. Too much for just an injured hand, Robin thinks. She inhales sharply, the scent assaulting her senses. A hand flies up to cover her mouth.

Chrom settles behind her, taking her into his arms. She leans into him almost immediately, resting the back of her head against his chest. He holds her tighter, eyes never leaving his sister as she cares for his son.

“It doesn’t look like he has any serious injuries,” Lissa says, shifting to sit more comfortably on the bedside. A cleric sets a water basin and washcloth on the drawer next to the bed. With a quiet “Thank you,” Lissa soaks and rinses the washcloth, gingerly pressing the now dampened cloth against the back of Morgan’s left hand.

“We’re telling you: He didn’t get hurt! He just fell and started screaming,” Owain shouts indignantly, his face pale. “He wasn’t bleeding before, and now he is, but he wasn’t, and--and--”

Lucina keeps her mouth shut, her eyes trained on her brother. She would have been the embodiment of impassivity, but the trembles that shake her body betrays her. 

“Come along, mi’lady,” Frederick grabs a hold of Lucina’s hand. He tugs lightly. It doesn’t take much to pull her out of the room.

Lissa shoots Lon’qu a look, and he nods. He places a hand on Owain’s shoulder and turns him gently. Owain hesitates, but with a quick glance at his father’s face, he relents and lets himself be lead out too.

“So, what did befall him?” Chrom asks after a pause. Lissa shrugs, her attention focused on cleaning the wound.

“My best guess,” Lissa says. “Is that he somehow managed knock his hand against the edge of the drawer?” She winces. The idea sounds ludicrous when spoken aloud. Robin seems to think so.

“Are you out of your mind?” She says. “Did you hear how he cried? How he screamed? He. Was. In. Agony.” Chrom embraces her more firmly, pulling her closer.

“Peace, my love,” He whispers, pressing his lips to the top of her head. Robin takes a deep breath, and murmurs an apology. She forces herself to relax and eases into Chrom’s hold. It is a comfort she’ll gladly accept.

“He’ll be alright,” Chrom says quietly. “He is your son, after all.”  
  
“He is mine as much as he is yours,” Robin reminds him. Chrom smiles.

A strangled sound escapes Lissa’s throat.

The couple’s attention immediately returns to her. Lissa is still, keeping the soiled washcloth firmly pressed against the backside of Morgan’s hand.

“Robin,” Lissa breathes. “You’re... You’re going to want to take a look at this.”

Chrom and Robin share a worried glance before moving in to stand around Lissa. Robin’s eyes scan her son’s form. He appears to be sleeping peacefully; the tear stains on his cheeks are the only indication he had been crying.  Lissa has not removed her grip from Morgan’s hand.

When she’s sure she has both of their attention, Lissa begins slowly, “I looked him over again. The area on his right hand where he has the Brand is... irritated. Red.” She gestures to it with her head. Sure enough, the back of Morgan’s right hand was so, looking as if it had been burned. Or if the Brand itself was burning Morgan’s skin, Robin’s mind supplied.

“I don’t understand. Are you saying this was the cause of his pain?” Chrom said. Lissa grimaces.

“Yes, and no,” Lissa redirects their attention to the hand clasped between her own. “It’s a part of it, but I think it’s mostly because of this.” And she pulls back the washcloth.

Six purple eyes peer up at them.

“No,” Robin whispers, staring at the offending mark. It was the same one she had on the back of her right hand, hidden from sight by the gloves she was so fond of wearing.

Grima’s mark.

The back of Morgan’s left hand looked similarly burned as his right. The Cursed mark shimmered brightly, outlined by the red of his skin. Morgan’s pain, the source of the blood had been this mark; almost as if it needed to carve its own place there.

“Oh, gods,” Robin says, her face pale. Lissa gives her a sympathetic look. Chrom leans closer and runs his fingers over the mark in order to confirm its existence. When it didn’t disappear, he let out a large breath.

Beneath the gloved surface, the back of Robin’s right hand itches. She startles when Chrom takes her hand and squeezes gently.

“This isn’t your fault,” He says. “Remember, we took care of Grima. He’s no longer our concern. Our son is safe.”

Robin takes a deep breath.  
  
“... I know.”

 

Yet, when she remembers how awful Morgan’s cries had been, she’s not entirely sure believes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be a slow WIP of an Alternate Timeline scenario: If Grima some how got a hold of Morgan.
> 
> The pairings I have for this are totally unimportant to the plot, however, I'm using the pairings that feel right to me which may not coincide what many want but having the pairings decided makes it easier to refer to the other parent rather than just "his/her father/mother" or as the "husband/wife of [Character]"
> 
> I plan to make an RP tumblr blog for Grima!Morgan pretty soon for the fun of it, but I have yet to actually finalize it.
> 
> When I do, I'll post a link in the notes. :)


	2. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple years pass, and Morgan has trouble sleeping. So he wanders.

Morgan finds himself standing at the door to the castle’s armoury on the nights he can’t sleep. And lately, he hasn’t slept much at all.

He stifles a yawn, checking his surroundings for any signs that anybody was nearby.

It’s not his fault, he thinks. He’s been wound up with a lot of pent-up energy and aggression he’s not too sure where it originated from. He would much rather prefer being cheerful than being angry, but whatever the cause of his mood shift has taken a great deal of his cheer with it. Morgan resists it though, to avoid lashing out at his parents and older sister.

The nights he is able to sleep are less than pleasant.  Nightmares plague him those nights, most of which he cannot remember. The few things he does recall is the fear upon waking   ** _screams so many screams everything ‘s_** the fading heat of flames against his skin _**burning everyone is dying how dare they oppose him**_ and an underlying exhilaration. 

They don’t happen as frequently as they did when he was younger (mostly because he doesn’t sleep enough to dream). Morgan prefers it that way.

Plus, he doesn’t worry his parents anymore by waking up screaming and crying, so it’s a win-win in his book.

But nights like these were unbearable without something to keep his mind occupied from the migraines he has been getting more and more frequently. The deafening silence grates on his nerves as his brain tries to fill it in with nonsense sounds: an incessant tapping against the stone walls, scratches and heavy breathing in the shadows,  unintelligible whispers tickling his ears and eating at his mind.

So he wanders the castle when reading his mother’s strategy books from his parent’s study isn’t enough. He never has a set destination in mind. He simply allows himself to explore. Morgan thinks he’s got the whole castle mapped out in his head pretty well. And he’s learned all the pathways that could lead to the armoury.

At first, he used to get caught by the guards on night shifts or by the servants that were just getting ready for their early morning duties. Frederic gave him an earful when he caught him one morning.

Eventually, Morgan just ended up learning the routes the guards and servants took and learned to sneak through the hallways without being seen. Maybe one night, he’ll feel confident enough to leave the castle and wander the city.

…He hasn’t stopped to wonder how worryingly good he has gotten at disappearing into the shadows.

With the few tricks his Uncle Gaius has taught him, Morgan manages to open the locked armoury door. He thinks once again that maybe he should tell his father that security should be tighter around that area. Of course, he’ll forget about it later in the day, when the pulsing headaches set in.

But Morgan is so exhausted. He just wants to rest. And his only cure is right inside the armoury.

He had noticed it--he’s not sure when--how his migraines seem to just dissipate, how most of the tension just leaves his body whenever he nears it: Falchion, the legendary sword.

His father keeps it stored away most nights, having no need for it in this time of peace. He’d only take it out every once in a while to train with it, or to get rid of some brigand causing trouble in a nearby village. Morgan liked that about his father, never truly settling down as king, and remaining active as leader of the shepherds. 

At the same time, Morgan hated being parted from the sword. The sword that was Grima’s undoing. The same sword that brings Morgan some peace of mind.

Morgan quietly makes his way to the back of the room and admires the pedestal in which the sheathed Falchion sits. He reaches for the sword with his left hand, but stops abruptly with a hiss as a dull shock travels up his arm. The six eyes on the back of his hand stare up at him mockingly.

Did his mother ever have trouble being near his father’s sword?

Morgan reaches for Falchion with his other hand instead, the Brand of the Exalt glowing in stark contrast to his pale skin. Absently, he wonders if there’s a word for him. If his father is the Son of Naga and his mother is the Daughter of Grima, what does that make him?

_**‘An abomination,’**_ the silence whispers, as he unsheathes Falchion. Instantly, he feels incredibly tired and relieved. The silence is no longer so scary. He teeters unsteadily and Falchion nearly slips from his grasp as his arms are dragged down with its weight. The sword was still too heavy for him to carry for long periods of time.

The back of his left hand itches uncomfortably, but he ignores it in favor of resting up against the wall of the room. He slides down to sit, careful not to disturb any of the other equipment and lays Falchion across his lap.

“Good night,” Morgan whispers to the tired boy reflected on the sword’s surface. And for a split second, before he settles in for a few hours of sleep, Morgan swears he saw his eyes flash purple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update. Also ask blog for Grima!Morgan here http://fellprince.tumblr.com/  
> Ack, and I've even ignored the ask blog. But I've been busy as of late. I'll try to get to answering the asks as soon as I can. Vacation is coming up really soon.
> 
> I'm sorry this is such a short chp but its definitely better to what it could've been. It's still v much like the prologue. I feel like I need to put in more of the other characters as well as all the kids Morgan grew up with. Hrmr, I probably should have finished a few chaps before posting this.


End file.
